


You Didn't Call Me On Your Cell Phone

by scatteringmyashes



Series: Athos/D'Artagnan AU Fest [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 07:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5619454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes/pseuds/scatteringmyashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All d'Artagnan wants to do is finish his chemistry midterm. So why is his phone ringing? And why does it sound like Athos is really, really drunk? </p><p>D'Artagnan answers the phone and finds out that Athos has a crush on him. The twist? Apparently it's mutual, only no one decided to tell d'Artagnan that.</p><p>Also known as: That Time d'Artagnan and Athos Were in Love With One Another And Didn't Realize It.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Didn't Call Me On Your Cell Phone

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another fic for the wonderful boys in leather. I've actually created a series for all of my d'Artagnan/Athos AU fics xD Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Prompt: You butt-dialed me and I overheard the drunken conversation you had with your friend about your massive crush on me and now I don’t know how to act around you AU

D’Artagnan was really regretting every decision he had made up to that point in his life, a strong sense of utmost despair and hopelessness rushing over him and blurring everything together. His midterm was due in less than three hours and he was just over halfway done with it, which in of itself was horrible, but it didn’t help that his three closest friends had decided to go out drinking without him. Of course they were allowed to have fun even if he couldn’t go; that wasn’t the problem. 

It was just that d’Artagnan really, _really_ wanted to be there. Or, to be more accurate, wanted to mercilessly tease Aramis when he began to wax poetically about Porthos’ eyes. And to see Porthos just laugh at his boyfriend. And listen to the low chuckle in Athos’ throat as he managed to hide just how amused he was by everything. Yeah, that was definitely something d’Artagnan wanted to see. 

But, well, he also wanted to pass chemistry 201 and it really wouldn’t be a good idea to just slack off for a night of drinking. 

His friends knew that, which was why he was surprised to hear his phone ring. D’Artagnan resisted the urge to slam his head on his desk and reached for it, scowling when he couldn’t find it. The ringtone was obnoxiously high, stopping him from just ignoring it; well that and a stab of largely irrational fear. What if someone had gotten hurt and the others were calling to tell him to get to the hospital? Knowing Athos and Porthos, that was completely possible. 

“What?” He hissed, answering with his nose pinched between two fingers. D’Artagnan waited for a reply, but all he heard was static. He looked at the screen to double check that it wasn’t just some random number. No, that was Athos’ scowling face there as the contact picture. 

It had been a real struggle to get him to even let d’Artagnan take one, and it remained one of the few photos _anyone_ had of Athos. “Is everything ok?” D’Artagnan asked, feeling concerned after a few more moments passed without a reply. There was noise in the background, chatter he couldn’t make out, which was the only reason he didn’t hang up.

He half expected some paramedic to ask who he was, if he knew Olivier d’Athos de la Fère. That was one of d’Artagnan’s fears: that one of his friends would be hurt and he wouldn’t be there for them, like how he hadn’t been there for his father. 

Then someone started to speak.

“Just saying that ‘e is a little shit… an attractive shit….” It was definitely not a paramedic. “‘Ramis, I just wanna kiss him. Can I kiss him?” In fact, it sounded an awful lot like Athos. But that wouldn’t make sense, because that meant that Athos would have his eyes on someone. A male someone, which was a surprise in of itself. Was he gay? No, d’Artagnan knew Athos had an ex girlfriend. Bi, maybe? 

Besides, d’Artagnan knew everything about Athos, and the man had sworn off dating and romance for the rest of his life. That alone was something that made d’Artagnan sad, but he never let himself think about for longer than a few moments. 

Regardless, Athos had never mentioned that he liked someone to d’Artagnan. The only people the man was closer to, arguably, were Porthos and Aramis… but d’Artagnan liked to imagine that the four were essentially brothers. They told each other everything.

Right? 

“Have you seen…. And his fuckin’ eyes…” Athos seemed blissfully unaware that his phone had dialed d’Artagnan. In fact, it sounded like his phone wasn’t even out. In his pocket, maybe? _He must have called me on accident,_ d’Artagnan realized. “Jus’... ‘Ramis, why is ‘e so good?” 

“Athos? You there?” D’Artagnan was starting to get the feeling that this was not a call he was supposed to be in, but he also wasn’t a good enough person to hang up. Besides, it was Athos. No doubt he’d just scowl and call d’Artagnan something insulting, but he wouldn’t actually care. What secret would Athos have that he didn’t want d’Artagnan to know?

There was the distinct sound of Athos’ head hitting a table. It was ridiculously loud in the background, yet somehow everything was muted at the same time. The result was that d’Artagnan could only make out ever few words that were said. He didn’t think he would miss anything important, but the next thing he heard was Aramis speaking.

“You may do best telling him… won’t read your mind…” The rest of his sentence was too garbled for d’Artagnan to understand, but he caught ‘Athos’ and ‘dinner.’ That didn’t help d’Artagnan guess what they were talking about at all, but what he heard next certainly cleared up much of his confusion.

“Damn him…. Damn ‘tagnan… attractive lil’ shit.” Athos shifted and there was a loud static noise that forced d’Artagnan to hold the phone away from his head. By the time he could listen again, Athos had fallen silent. Had he heard Athos correctly? It sounded like he had said d’Artagnan’s name but… Surely not. 

D’Artagnan was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost missed what Aramis said. “Athos, you look... like he is the stars in the sky.” There was a loud sigh and the sound of someone patting Athos on the back. “Just ask him out already. D’Artagnan feels the same way.” 

The phone slipped from d’Artagnan’s grip and landed on his floor, cracking the screen and ending the call. He was too shocked to even bring himself to panic, staring at his chem midterm like it had just jumped out of his screen and slapped him. Quite frankly, that would have been preferable. 

Athos liked him? And apparently he liked Athos? D’Artagnan wasn’t sure which surprised him more: the fact that Athos had feelings, _romantic_ ones, for him or the fact that Aramis of all people thought that those very emotions were returned. Wasn’t Aramis supposed to be good at reading the mood? Well in this case he had most definitely failed, because d’Artagnan thought about many things when it came to Athos, but he didn’t consider candlelight dinners or any other dating situations. 

Certainly d’Artagnan had a healthy amount of respect and admiration for Athos, but it was purely platonic. It wasn’t that Athos was a bad person, it was just that d’Artagnan had never been with another guy before, had never even thought they were attractive beyond the normal jealousy of a skinny college boy looking at the more muscular jocks. 

Besides, there was another important flaw in this entire situation: Athos was many things, but he was not interested in other guys. At least, not in the ‘I want to date you and probably do other things with you’ way. Right?

_Right?_

D’Artagnan let out a loud groan and let his head hit his desk, closing his eyes and wondering if Constance would take pity on him and let him take a few swigs from her tequila stash. But no, he had this ridiculous chem midterm to finish and it was worth a stupidly large thirty percent of his final grade. If he got roaring drunk now, he probably wouldn’t finish in time.

He sat back up before remembering the condition of his poor phone; d’Artagnan reached for it and sighed as he examined the damage. It was still usable, but there was a giant crack crossing diagonally through the entire front screen. _You need a case for that,_ Athos had mentioned once, while the four of them were getting lunch somewhere. _I’ve never met someone more prone to accidents and breaking things._

D’Artagnan set it aside, cracked his knuckles, and pushed all of those thoughts aside. He could have a low-key panic attack about the state of his friendship and sexuality later. Right now he really, really needed to not fail chemistry. 

He got done with the final an hour late.

\----------------

“What happened to your phone?” Porthos asked as d’Artagnan took a snapchat of his coffee. He blinked and looked at the crack; over the last few days he had grown so used to it that he barely even remembered that the other three hadn’t been there to see what happened.

‘Athos accidentally pocket dialed me the last time you three went out for drinks without me and I heard that he has a crush on me and apparently I feel the same way, except nobody really bothered to tell me so in my surprise I dropped my phone on the floor and I was so distracted the rest of the night I finished my final an hour late’ seemed like a really, really bad explanation. So d’Artagnan just sighed as he picked a filter for his snap.

“I dropped it,” he replied like it was obvious. Porthos rolled his eyes and muttered something about Gascons being sarcastic little shits, but d’Artagnan couldn’t find it in him to rise to the bait. Athos was walking over to their table, his cup of tea in one hand and his sunglasses in another. He looked at d’Artagnan and raised an eyebrow, as if to ask ‘what are you looking at?’ D’Artagnan blushed and glanced away. If Porthos noticed, he said nothing.

“Are you taking another photo of your coffee?” Athos asked as he sat next to d’Artagnan, who most certainly didn’t feel a rush of warmth as their arms brushed against each other. “You know that instagram or snapchat or _whatever_ is for photos of you, correct? There are only so many pictures of your coffee order that anyone can stand.” 

It was rather hypocritical of Athos to say that, considering his snapchat (he refused to get an instagram) was full of photos of the sky or buildings or people he had amusing, but most often rude, commentary for. The man was ridiculously photophobic and had actually threatened to break Aramis’ fingers on more than one occasion _if he did not delete that damn photo right now--_

“And what happened to your screen?” Athos scowled. “I told you to get a case, d’Artagnan. This was bound to happen eventually.” There was not enough coffee in the world to prepare d’Artagnan for this conversation, so he did what any other university student would do: he flipped Athos off and took a long swig of his drink.

\-----------

It was not, d’Artagnan had long ago decided, that Athos was a bad person. It was simply that he had many bad habits, which caused him to act like someone who was less than stellar. If you asked any of the self-proclaimed musketeers (their first Halloween was memorable for many reasons), Athos was most certainly their leader and the one who they trusted to get them both in and out of sticky situations. Like, for example, being stuck in a holding cell for something they didn’t do. 

Then again, that would largely depend on one’s definition of ‘didn’t do’ and, by extension, ‘innocent.’ 

“This is all your fault,” Porthos complained as he glared at Aramis. Well, glared as much as he could with a rather impressive bruise forming over his left eye. “I was doing perfectly fine. You didn’t need to step in.” Aramis snorted and his boyfriend narrowed his still-uninjured eye. “What, doubting me now of all times?” 

“Porthos, I love you. But when I came out of the bathroom you were fighting three lads the same size as you with Athos already knocked out in a corner,” he pointed out. Porthos opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. Eventually he nodded, conceding that perhaps it had not been in his best interests to get into a brawl on a Saturday night at their local pub. No doubt the owner would not be very keen on having them back anytime soon.

D’Artagnan pursed his lips, holding his right hand gingerly. It wasn’t broken; he knew what that felt like from years of playing football with his mates. That being said, it definitely was not happy with him and would probably need a sling. “How did you get knocked out so fast?” He asked, looking at Athos. The third year shrugged, sitting in the corner with his eyes half closed. Even coming off of three beers, ragged and covered in sweat and dirt, he was still attractive. 

Not that d’Artagnan was noticing that or anything. Because he wasn’t into other guys and even if he was he wouldn’t want to date Athos. They were friends, brothers at most. Definitely nothing besides platonic feelings there. 

“You four!” There was a bobby come to spring them out, already unlocking the holding cell, flanked by a very irate young woman with rusty curls and a scowl on her face that could have challenged Athos’ glares. “It’s one in the fucking morning. You’re awfully lucky that some of us are studying and not out _drinking_ or, you know, _sleeping_!” Constance put her hands on her hips and, despite being shorter than each of the musketeers, intimidated all of them.

Athos let out a heavy sigh and accepted d’Artagnan’s help standing. Porthos and Aramis were already making their apologies and excuses to Constance, who was having none of it. 

“I paid your bail and now I am leaving. If you expect me to drive you back to the dorms you have another thing coming for you,” she told them with steel in her voice. Aramis and Porthos were both cowed, though that didn’t stop Aramis from giving the bobby a cheeky grin as he got his things back.

D’Artagnan admired Constance in many ways, most notably for her ‘take no prisoners’ attitude. Hell, upon first meeting her he had instantly developed a crush for her and spent an embarrassing three weeks trying to get her to go out with him. It was only being sat down and told that Constance was, indeed, a lesbian that ended that particular endeavor.

He hadn’t really had a crush on anyone since. Definitely not Athos, who was putting his fucking sunglasses on because apparently the station was too bright for his drunken self. Because it wasn’t like Athos looked attractive in his leather jackets and jeans, or even his button-up shirts and slacks, with his insufferable draw to bars and trouble that could challenge Porthos, and it certainly wasn’t like Athos was one of the smartest students among the poly-sci majors, if not the entire school.

“Constance, you should drive d’Artagnan to the hospital. He had a rather nasty collision with a table and his hand may be sprained.” It wasn’t like Athos had noticed the way d’Artagnan was holding himself, reaching out to grab his belongings with his left hand instead of his right, and pointed it out despite d’Artagnan not complaining during the entire three hours of their brief incarceration. 

D’Artagnan opened his mouth to complain, because he would be fine with just a thing of ice and a sling, but one look at Constance made the words shrivel up and die in his throat. “All right,” he mumbled instead. 

It wasn’t like Athos’ usual glare softened around the edges or that he followed d’Artagnan over to Constance’s car, opening the door for him and making him promise to actually get it looked at. 

“And don’t lie about the pain either. It won’t do you any good to not get it treated properly the first time.” No doubt he was thinking about the incident wherein d’Artagnan fell off a horse and swore up and down he didn’t have anything except a minor bruise and a headache.

He had a concussion and ended up passing out not two hours later, but that was neither here nor there. 

“Try to end up in your room and not Treville’s this time,” d’Artagnan replied with a cheeky grin. Once during their second year, Athos had managed to walk right into their RA’s room and fell asleep on his bed. They still weren’t sure how it happened, but Treville promised to never let them live it down. It wasn’t like the musketeers took it upon themselves to remind Athos about that particular night every opportunity. 

Athos rolled his eyes and looked at Constance. “I take it back, drive him to the river and dump his body in the Seine,” he told her in a deadpan that had a direct correlation to how much alcohol he had drunk in the last twelve hours: the more he had in his system, the better his deadpan seemed to get. 

“Have a good night, Athos,” was the only reply he got before Constance drove off. They made it around the corner, the police station (and by extension the other musketeers) safely out of view, when d’Artagnan let his head hit the dashboard with an overly dramatic _thunk._

“I have a crush on Athos,” he admitted. Constance whacked him over the head. “Oi, what was that for?” He asked, rubbing the spot and wincing. She rolled her eyes and glared at him with one eye.

“Took you long enough.” She fell silent as they drove, d’Artagnan stewing in his thoughts. They made it to the hospital in good time and he closed the door carefully; Constance had almost bitten Porthos’ head off when he slammed it shut. “Also,” she pipped up, “you deserve this.” She slugged him in the shoulder and d’Artagnan swore.

“What was _that_ for?” She gave him a cheeky grin.

“Interrupting my study session with Anne.” The look on her face made it clear what exactly they had been ‘studying.’ 

\-------------

Suddenly everything Athos did was cast in a new light. Did he always scratch his beard when he didn’t know what to say? Was the slight gleam in his eyes only for d’Artagnan or did other see it too? The small twitch of his lips that made up his smile haunted d’Artagnan’s dreams and every time they brushed against one another it made him wonder what it would be like for Athos to just pull him into a tight embrace and never let go.

Yeah, d’Artagnan was well and truly fucked. At least Anne and Constance had been tolerant enough to hear his complaints, though they both thought he was a bloody idiot for taking so long to understand that he did, indeed, want to go on moonlit walks with Athos that ended in them necking like a couple of teenagers on one of their beds. Well that and his lack of action at all about his feelings in the first place. 

“You told me that he likes you. And you most clearly feel the same way. So level up and ask him out already,” Constance ordered, though her usually steely gaze was somewhat ruined by the fact that her hair was up in a towel and she was wearing a bright pink bathrobe. Anne lightly poked her in the cheek. “What was that for?” Constance asked.

“Don’t move while I’m painting your nails, love. I’ll get polish everywhere.” Anne switched her attention to d’Artagnan and pointed the polish brush at him. “But really, d’Artagnan. Your hesitation is… unnecessary.” Constance rolled her eyes.

“What Anne is trying to say is that you need to get your ass into shape and ask him out for dinner or coffee or _something_ already. It really isn’t so complicated.” Constance hesitated. “Or is it? Have any secret girlfriends we should know about? Or boyfriends. We really aren’t the judging type.” 

Anne hummed her agreement and kissed Constance on the nose. D’Artagnan let out a strangled noise that was not unlike the sound his family’s cat made before it threw up a hairball. “I promise you that I am as single as a man can be.” 

“Then is it something more personal?” Anne lowered her voice, much like d’Artagnan was planning a murder and not complaining about his dismal love life. It wasn’t as if someone else was going to hear them in her dorm room. The walls weren’t _that_ thin. “If you want to talk about it--” 

“There’s nothing wrong with me or whatever you seem to think,” d’Artagnan interrupted. “I just. Athos.” He waved his hands in the air in an attempt to convey what he was thinking. From the blank looks Constance and Anne exchanged, it was safe to say it didn’t work. “He’s _Athos._ ”

If they were on a television show, Constance would have looked into the camera. As it was, she let out a heavy sigh. “Funny, d’Artagnan, I had that much figured out for myself.” She opened her mouth to further berate him, but Anne seemed to take pity on the poor man and gave him a small smile.

“Constance is being hard on you because she too took far too long to ask me out,” the brunette explained. This time it was Constance who made a choking noise. Anne ignored the sounds, though she did continue to paint her girlfriend’s nails. “See, Constance knew that I had my eye on her for quite some time, but she was too nervous. Because until the person you admire looks at you and says as much, you never know for certain.” Anne put the brush back in the bottle and blew on Constance’s nails. 

D’Artagnan thought about what Anne was saying. It was true that he was scared if Athos really had feelings for him or if they were just the ramblings of a drunken college student. Certainly it wasn’t unheard of for Athos to say some truly stupid things after drinking, but this was much different than the time he agreed to wax his legs for twenty euros (not worth it for him, but the video made the others laugh every time). Besides, wouldn’t Athos act differently if he liked d’Artagnan? All the older man did was roll his eyes and say various sarcastic and witty comments.

Of course d’Artagnan thought that even Athos’ _snark_ was attractive. It was well and truly maddening and there was essentially no chance of getting any help out of Constance and Anne. The two were exchanging kisses and silly faces and d’Artagnan could tell when he was no longer wanted. Part of him was tempted to lurk around just to annoy Constance, but he also didn’t want to risk her wrath. 

“D’Artagnan, just ask Athos out. Or if that’s too much of a leap, leave hints. Let him know you like him. He’s terrified of romance but even he can’t possibly have his head up his ass that much,” Constance reassured him with a smile. “Now,” she continued, smile quickly morphing into a scowl, “get out of my girlfriend’s room if you want a chance to live.” 

He didn’t have to be told twice.

\------------

“Hey, Athos?” D’Artagnan had taken a shower, dried his hair carefully, and put on a clean shirt. That was more effort than he usually did on a Friday, and with any luck the ever-perceptive Athos would notice. At least, that was d’Artagnan’s plan when he showed up outside of his friend’s dorm room in the afternoon, planning on seeing if he wanted to go down to the dining hall together.

He hadn’t accounted for the idea that Athos might have been drinking the night before. Really, a rookie mistake when it came to making plans with the other. D’Artagnan could have kicked himself, except he had also forgotten that Athos slept without a shirt and was at least able to appreciate the view.

“D’Artagnan, unless the world is ending I am going back to sleep. If you still need me in, oh, twelve hours then I will be here in my room.” _Drinking some more,_ d’Artagnan wondered, _or something else?_ He wasn’t stupid enough to ask though. “Goodbye.” Athos closed the door.

 _Ok, no worries, just try something else._ D’Artagnan had looked up for far too long different ways to show someone you were interested in them. He had a few ideas bookmarked on his laptop; surely one of them had to work.

\-----------

 _To: Aramis_  
_From: d’Artagnan_  
_14:09  
what would you get for someone you like_

 _To: d’Artagnan_  
_From: Aramis_  
_14:20  
Is this for Athos?_

 _To: Aramis_  
_From: d’Artagnan_  
_14:21  
I have no idea why you would think that_

 _To: Aramis_  
_From: d’Artagnan_  
_14:25  
yes_

 _To: d’Artagnan_  
_From: Aramis_  
_14:30  
Show up outside his dorm with a bow around your neck._

 _To: d’Artagnan_  
_From: Aramis_  
_14:31  
You’re the gift :)_

D’Artagnan looked at his phone screen, blinked for a few seconds, and then tossed it at his bed. It promptly slid off and fell on the ground. He swore and hit his head on his table. It was turning out to be that sort of a week. 

\------------

Ignoring Aramis’ oh-so helpful advice, d’Artagnan bought something that he thought Athos would appreciate that wasn’t alcohol-related or an old book. It wasn’t that d’Artagnan was morally opposed to buying the former or couldn’t find the latter, just that he wanted to present Athos with something that one of the others would have given him. Something, in other words, that had meaning.

Then again, d’Artagnan also should have considered the fact that Athos came from old money (not that he bragged about it or anything, but he always got the others ridiculously expensive gifts so either his family was rich or Athos did something incredibly illegal but well paying on the side) and probably had just about anything d’Artagnan could buy. 

“I don’t understand,” Athos admitted as he looked at the moleskine notebook that d’Artagnan had decided to get him as an impromptu gift. “Is this your way of telling me something?” _Yes,_ d’Artagnan thought, _it’s my way of saying that you should ask me out so I don’t continue to lose sleep thinking about your bloody blue eyes or the way you look when you smile at me._

Aloud, of course, he said none of that. “I just thought you might find it useful. To write down stuff.” Athos looked at d’Artagnan as if to see if he was joking or pulling his leg. Hell, he seemed to be waiting for Porthos and Aramis to pop out of the woodwork and shout ‘surprise’ at him. 

“Did I sleep through my birthday?” Athos asked. “Or perhaps this is some strange Gascon holiday I don’t know about?” It was the slight twinkle in his eyes and the curve of his lips that gave away the fact that he was well and truly pulling d’Artagnan’s leg. Still, that didn’t stop the temptation to smack his head into the nearest wall from appearing in roughly half of d’Artagnan’s brain.

The other half wanted to fuck it all and kiss Athos. That part was most certainly not allowed to win. 

“A friend can’t just get another friend a gift?” D’Artagnan knew instantly he had said the wrong thing, because the look in Athos’ eyes disappeared and he nodded curtly. Athos managed to look like a disapproving father even though he was shorter than d’Artagnan. It was the beard, really, that made him look so much older. Then again, there was no way in hell that d’Artagnan was going to ask Athos to cut it for him.

“Of course they can. Sorry, I have a lot of homework. I’ll talk to you later.” Athos closed his door. 

D’Artagnan made it all the way around the corner before hitting his head on the wall. Repeatedly. 

\------------

 _To: Constance_  
_From: d’Artagnan_  
_13:04_  
_help idk what else to do_

 _To: d’Artagnan_  
_From: Constance_  
_13:06_  
_Ask him out already you bloody idiot._

 _To: Constance_  
_From: d’Artagnan_  
_13:09_  
_but he obv doesn’t like me anymore or he would have acted by now_

 _To: Constance_  
_From: d’Artagnan_  
_13:35_  
_Constance???_

 _To: Constance_  
_From: d’Artagnan_  
_14:02_  
_srsly not funny_

 _To: d’Artagnan_  
_From: Constance_  
_14:09_  
_Sorry Anne distracted me ;)_

 _To: d’Artagnan_  
_From: Constance_  
_14:10_  
_What do you want me to say?_

 _To: Constance_  
_From: d’Artagnan_  
_14:13_  
_nvrmnd -.-_

\------------

It turned out that either d’Artagnan was absolutely horrible at slyly letting Athos know that he was extremely interested in dating or that Athos happened to have a giant d’Artagnan-shaped blind spot. Really, it was bad enough that Aramis gave the Gascon a pitying look after Athos left to use the bathroom. 

“I don’t know whether I should hit him upside the head or hit my head on this table,” Aramis confessed, waving his glass around. “You two are more dramatic than my mother’s soap operas, really.” He sighed and shook his head. “Is it that you are opposed to asking him out?” The obnoxious bastard at least had the manners to look apologetic while d’Artagnan choked on his water.

Porthos thumped the youngest musketeer on the back. “No dying on us. Athos would never forgive us if we managed to kill his favorite,” he chided with a shit-eating grin. D’Artagnan recovered enough to flip them both off before letting out a final cough. He glared at the other two, but neither seemed the least bit sorry for him. 

Well, Aramis seemed a bit sorry. “You do realize that he likes you, correct?” Not, however, sorry enough to just drop the topic. D’Artagnan groaned and held his head in his hands. “Usually I would not be so direct, but it appears that all other attempts at subtlety have failed.” That got d’Artagnan’s attention. 

He raised an eyebrow and looked at Aramis. “What other attempts?” He asked, voice cold. The other man paled and glanced at Porthos, who shrugged. He wasn’t about to touch this particular conversation with a ten foot pole; as far as he was concerned, this was between Aramis and d’Artagnan.

“Well, you can’t seriously think that Athos managed to butt-dial you, can you?” Aramis coughed and looked a bit embarrassed, but more so nervous. “It was really easy to take his phone and put it back in his coat without him noticing. Thought you would act sooner, of course, but…” He fell silent as d’Artagnan fully comprehended what he had just been told. 

Then he swore and shot straight up, ready to either strangle or yell at Aramis, most likely a combination of the two, except a familiar face appeared. D’Artagnan found himself frozen, torn between anger and shame at having taken so long to figure out what apparently every single one of his friends had stumbled upon. 

“Well don’t let me stop you,” Athos muttered as he took his seat. “I’m sure that Aramis deserves whatever you’re about to say.” He took a drink of his water as d’Artagnan sat, glaring but silent even as he crossed his arms and attempted to look as angry and threatening as possible. It didn’t really work, but the effort was there nonetheless. “What did you do this time, Aramis?” 

“Nothing of any importance, regardless of what our dear Gascon wants to believe.” The aforementioned student exchanged a heavy look with Aramis, a whole conversation passing between them. D’Artagnan mentally swore before leaning forward and threading his fingers together.

“Yeah, nothing _too_ important,” he practically hissed. There was no doubt that Athos picked up on the animosity between his two friends, but he could understand a need for digression and so he didn’t pry. At least, he held back the urge for now. He just waved down the waiter and asked for the check, which arrived promptly. 

“Oh, Aramis?” D’Artagnan caught his friend’s attention. “You’ll be paying for my share today.” It was petty and low and completely unnecessary. D’Artagnan may not be as rich as him, but he certainly wasn’t _that_ hard pressed for money. 

Aramis knew that and looked tempted to argue, but Porthos just touched his boyfriend’s elbow and that seemed to draw all the confrontation out of him. “Fine. But we’re talking about this later.” D’Artagnan had no doubt that he meant it.

\----------------

 _To: Porthos_  
_From: Athos_  
_19:02_  
_Do you have any idea what was going on between Aramis and d’Artagnan?_

 _To: Athos_  
_From: Porthos_  
_19:05_  
_None whatsoever._

 _To: Athos_  
_From: Porthos_  
_19:06_  
_And if I did, I most certainly wouldn’t tell you._

 _To: Porthos_  
_From: Athos_  
_19:10_  
_Fuck you too._

 _To: Athos_  
_From: Porthos_  
_19:13_  
_Sorry, that’s Aramis’ job._

“Who are you texting?” Aramis asked, trying to look over his boyfriend’s shoulder. Porthos gave him _the look_ in hopes of ending the conversation quickly. Of course it did nothing of the sort. “Is he still being horribly thick and blind? Doesn’t think that he’s good enough and refuses to act on what everyone else can plainly see are reciprocated feelings?”

It’s such an easy set-up that Porthos couldn’t even bring himself to feel guilty for replying: “Which one?” Aramis blinked once, twice, and then burst out laughing. 

\-------------

“You look just fine,” Constance reassured d’Artagnan as he strode up and down the length of his room, eyes focused on his shoes as he decided whether or not they would work for the night. “Really, with the amount of effort you’re putting into this you better actually ask this time.” He made a face at her, but he really couldn’t argue. 

Unfortunately, she had a point. About two months had gone by since his own realization that he liked Athos, yet the most d’Artagnan had done was give his friend gifts and blush a little more than usual while around him. Admittedly, the last time d’Artagnan planned on asking Athos on a date it turned out that the man in question was in the middle of having a crisis. Something about a paper he didn’t realize was due? D’Artagnan had been too busy cursing his bad luck to pay too much attention as Athos essentially slammed the door in his face.

After that, d’Artagnan had been planning his next move with the most minute details figured out. “I’ll do it, Constance. I can’t put this much effort into something and then not do it,” he told her. She raised an eyebrow at him, no doubt thinking of all the times he had said something similar and then not fulfilled his end of an agreement or dropped a particular interest in favor of another; no one had ever accused him of having a good attention span. 

“This is different,” d’Artagnan argued. “This is Athos.” 

“Yes it is. I’m glad we’ve established that much,” Constance replied immediately. “Really, d’Artagnan, it’ll be fine.” Her voice shifted from its half-mocking, mostly teasing tone to actual concern. “I know how much he means to you and the entire world can see the way he looks at you. This will work out.” 

D’Artagnan sighed, wondering how to explain the main reason he had been dragging his feet this whole time. Yes, at first it was just natural nerves at the idea of starting a relationship with the man he had looked up to and respected for the entirety of his university career. But it was more than just that. 

What happened if they got together, he fell in deep the way he always did, and Athos decided that he had better things to do than date a stupid sophomore? D’Artagnan liked to think that Aramis and Porthos wouldn’t pick sides, and at the very least they’d try to remain friends with him, but at the end of the day they’d definitely pick Athos. He had been with them longer than d’Artagnan and they were just closer to him. 

But they were the only close friends d’Artagnan had besides Constance. And while everyone liked to talk about how social he was, the truth remained that he didn’t do much without his fellow musketeers. D’Artagnan, simply put, was reliant on the three for almost everything that made college bearable. 

If he dated Athos and it ended poorly, what would happen to d’Artagnan?

Constance seemed to sense his disturbance, or at least could tell that he was really concerned about this. She gave him a small smile. “I know you’re scared, d’Artagnan, but you won’t be happy unless you do this. I know that. You know that.” She got up off his bed and pulled him into a hug. D’Artagnan was a good amount taller than her and he buried his nose in her hair. 

“I really like him, Constance.” She rubbed his back in soothing circles. The last time they had hugged like this it had been after he told her that his father had died the day he left for college. “And I just want things to work out. I want him to like me and I want us to be happy together.” 

“I know, d’Artagnan. I know.” Constance pulled away first and held onto him by his shoulders. She looked right at him and didn’t give him the option to look away. “Go to his room and ask him out you dork. Stop waiting for him to level up and do it. Some things you just have to do yourself.” 

D’Artagnan nodded and stepped back, brushing off his shirt. “I will.” He turned to walk away but then he dashed back to her and hugged her, picking her up off the ground and ignoring her squeal. “Thank you, Constance. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Starve or fail college most likely,” she replied. “Now go!” She swatted him on the arm. “Stop wasting my time.” D’Artagnan rolled his eyes and left. Constance ran after to him and watched him walk down the hall. “And be sure to tell me _all_ the details!” Her laughter followed him.

\------------

Athos, despite what his friends might think, was not an alcoholic. That would imply that he drank alone, often, and without reason. He drank for many reasons, he rarely drank alone, and he drank no more than any other college student. So no, he was not an alcoholic. But he definitely felt like he had a reason to enjoy himself tonight as he poured another shot and knocked it back, not even blinking at the taste of cheap whiskey. 

Rather, he had a good reason to _not_ enjoy himself. To drown out all of his emotions in a haze of drunkenness. And the reason was tall, lean, utterly attractive and had a smile that was literally in every single one of Athos’ dreams. Really, the past week of dreams had been filled with d’Artagnan’s grin, his laugh, the gleam in his eyes as he looked at Athos as if he wasn’t a complete mess and could actually be loved.

Yeah, Athos wasn’t feeling all that good. 

So when he pounded back his fifth (or was it his sixth?) shot and heard a knock on the door, he thought that he was hallucinating. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time, though Athos wasn’t used to it sounding so frantic. He let out a sigh and looked at his wall. There were no posters or anything up, making it a bit impersonal. Nothing like d’Artagnan’s room, which was full of pictures of family or home. 

Another knock. Athos sighed and decided that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t going totally crazy. He stood and opened the door and corrected himself. _I am too drunk for this,_ he thought as he saw d’Artagnan looking back at him. 

The Gascon was wearing sinfully tight jeans and a black t-shirt for some band he listened to. All he needed was Athos’ leather jacket around his shoulders, maybe Athos’ sunglasses hanging off of his shirt…. _You are not going there,_ Athos ordered himself, shaking his head. 

“What do you want?” He asked, glad that his words weren’t slurring yet. D’Artagnan opened his mouth and then closed it, realizing something. “Yes, I’m drunk. No, I will not forget this conversation,” Athos added. “Unless I drink more later. Then I might.” D’Artagnan looked like he wanted to say something about that, but he changed his mind. 

“I thought we should talk, but now might not be the best time…” D’Artagnan thought about it and swallowed. “Or. Well. Do you mind if I come in?” He seemed nervous, as far as Athos’ mind could make out. Either that or he just wasn’t comfortable with Athos being as drunk as he was, but that would have been a first. 

When they had first met, d’Artagnan had done his best to drink Athos under the table. It had not gone very well to say the least. Aramis still had the video somewhere. 

“Yeah, come in.” Athos walked into his room and sat at his desk, letting d’Artagnan make himself comfortable. “Want a drink?” He asked, wishing that he wasn’t wearing a pair of gym shorts and a shirt that was covered in grease stains. Especially not considering that d’Artagnan was just begging for Athos to pin him down and make sure he knew just how beautiful he was. 

Athos raised the bottle of whiskey. “Want any?” He asked. D’Artagnan shook his head. He didn’t sit. Nerves? Or something else? Athos couldn’t tell and trying took too much effort. His head hurt enough already. 

“Do you like anyone?” D’Artagnan blurted out, much to Athos’ surprise. He almost dropped the whiskey in his shock. Still, he managed to just look at d’Artagnan with nothing more than utter confusion on his face. “Sorry, that wasn’t really what I came here to ask. Mostly.” 

“D’Artagnan, I have had more shots than I can remember. If this is a conversation about my love life then it really can wait.” Athos squinted. “Did Aramis put you up to this? He’s always interfering.” That got d’Artagnan squirming where he stood, but he shook his head. “But to answer your question yes, I do have my eyes on someone.” Athos’ mind was screaming at him to shut up. He had not spent the last year hiding his feelings for d’Artagnan only to admit them a drunken Saturday night. He was better than that, god dammit.

Hell, d’Artagnan deserved better. D’Artagnan deserved a lot of things, none of which Athos could provide.

Seriously, who had begun drinking at seventeen and just never stopped, becoming an alcoholic (which he would deny if asked) and drowning all of his suffering in whatever drink was nearest? Who went off the deep end after his actually clinically insane girlfriend stabbed his brother repeatedly with a pair of scissors? Then again, the right question might be who didn’t notice that his girlfriend was crazy and would try to murder his family. 

But that would require Athos to be sober and he made a point of falling under that category as little as possible. “D’Artagnan, you obviously came here for a reason. Just spit out what you were going to say and let me drink.” Athos knew he was being hard on d’Artagnan and that this was only going to drive him away, but fuck it. Sooner rather than later, right?

“I wanted to talk to you about… about the person I like.” _I have not had enough alcohol for this,_ Athos decided. He ignored his well-used shot glass in favor of taking a swig straight out of the bottle. If d’Artagnan disapproved he kept it to himself. “He’s someone you know.” _And I thought this couldn’t get any worse._

“Please tell me it’s not Aramis. His head is big enough already and I don’t think Porthos wants to share,” Athos drawled, though he really doubted that Aramis was d’Artagnan’s type. If Athos had to guess, the type was more of a fiery brunette with a big chest. “Wait, he?” D’Artagnan rolled his eyes.

“No, it isn’t Aramis. And yes, it’s a guy.” D’Artagnan bit his lip before reaching over and grabbing the whiskey out of Athos’ hands. “That’s enough for you. I want you to at least be able to remember this in the morning,” he said over Athos’ complaints. Athos tried for some kind of puppy-dog look, but he was too rough around the edges to come close to pulling it off.

Still, d’Artagnan seemed to soften a little, if just because he set the whiskey aside and leaned against the bedframe. There were inches between the two. If Athos wanted, he could lean forward and pull d’Artagnan down by his shirt, kissing him gently or roughly or however he wanted. It could all be blamed on the alcohol, if Athos wanted. Or he could accept the consequences of his actions.

He did neither. “Why did you want to talk to me about this? Certainly Aramis or Constance are better suited for this sort of discussion.” Athos did his best to look serious and not at all interested in who d’Artagnan liked. At least if he knew, for certain, that he had no chance then maybe his feelings would disappear. Maybe. It was possible. Not likely, but possible.

“It concerns you.” D’Artagnan swallowed. He was playing with the hem of his shirt, unable to look Athos in the eyes. “I mean. I. Uh. It’s kind of. Oh fuck it.” He leaned forward, grabbed Athos by his shirt, and pulled him into a kiss.

It was sloppy; d’Artagnan seemed like he had never kissed someone before, and Athos had no idea what to do with his hands. Not to mention the fact that he had to taste like whiskey, which was one of d’Artagnan’s least favorite drinks. Regardless, when they broke apart they were both panting like they had just gone on a five mile jog.

Athos wondered if his liver had finally given out and he was in some weird sort of hell in which his greatest desire would come true, only for the rest of his life to be spent in eternal damnation and suffering. Yeah, ok, maybe he had thought of this far too often. 

There was a moment of silence as the two just looked at each other. D’Artagnan touched his bottom lip, seemingly in shock that he had just kissed Athos. Completely fair, since Athos was quite assured that d’Artagnan was not in his right mind or was purposefully playing with his head. Any moment now he’d burst into laughter and declare that it was all a joke, breaking Athos’ heart but at least preserving himself from any chance of being hurt.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” D’Artagnan whispered. Athos blinked and looked up at him, not quite registering what he was trying to imply. “Don’t you get it? Athos, I… I really like you. I’ve had feelings for you since the night in the holding cell, probably longer but I’m blind and didn’t realize I--”

He was cut off by Athos surging forward, tangling his fingers in d’Artagnan’s hair and pulling him close, kissing him and trying to explain every reason why this couldn’t happen but why it needed to. Athos poured in his fear and pain and guilt but also his passion and his desire and his love, as tainted and broken as it may be, into the contact. 

D’Artagnan melted against him, flexible and smooth under Athos’ fingers that clung to him like a man lost at sea hanging onto a piece of wood that kept him afloat. It was not smooth sailing; d’Artagnan was all joints and elbows and knees pressing against Athos, and Athos’ beard scratched against d’Artagnan’s scruff and seemed to threaten to cut him. It was not perfect as their teeth clashed and they fought for some semblance of order, not against each other but against their emotions that demanded no such thing occur. 

In all of its imperfections, in the way they finally broke apart gasping once more for air, it was nothing like Athos had ever thought of. D’Artagnan fought against being a passive member of the experience and Athos was loath to give up any amount of control. They were both used to getting their way and their first kiss held no promise of compromise.

But it was everything Athos had ever wanted and, even through the haze that settled over his mind, he knew what he had to say.

“We can’t do this.” D’Artagnan flinched as if Athos had moved to strike him. Athos shook his head and forced himself away, holding his face in his hands. “I can’t do this to you.” He turned his back to d’Artagnan, hoping that it would be easier perhaps if he didn’t have to face the man he cared for. “The last person I dated tried to murder my brother and I was the one who testified against her. She’s in jail because of me. _Jail._ I put the woman I loved in prison.” 

Athos closed his eyes and fell to his knees, a mockery of prayer. “I am a ruined man and I’m not even twenty five. Why would you want anything to do with me?” He asked, dreading the answer. 

What he got was a comforting hand on his shoulder, d’Artagnan’s presence calming him. “Because you are so much more than that, Athos. I… You are brilliant and witty, you care for your friends so deeply it hurts, and… God, Athos, you’re beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.” Athos turned to look at d’Artagnan and was hit by how _pure_ and _happy_ d’Artagnan looked. Like all he wanted in the whole world was right in front of him.

Like Athos wasn’t really fucking drunk and a mess of a human being. 

“D’Artagnan…. You deserve so much better than me. So, so much better.” Athos didn’t expect to get pulled into a hug, to feel d’Artagnan bury his nose in the crook of Athos’ neck. 

“I want to date you, Athos. Not someone else. You. Ok?” D’Artagnan pulled away to kiss the line of Athos’ jaw. “And we don’t know what will happen unless we try. Take a risk. Take me on a date.” Athos pulled away from d’Artagnan so they could look at one another. 

“Did you just ask me to take you on a date?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. D’Artagnan opened his mouth to argue before the realization that he had just done exactly that hit him. A strong blush rolled over his face and Athos couldn’t help but think that he was incredibly adorable when he blushed. Even better, the cause was _Athos._ That warmed even his cold, stony heart.

Athos poked d’Artagnan in the side and the younger man yelped. “I suppose it depends what you want to do.” D’Artagnan just lit up, his smile actually blinding. It made Athos even happier, his lips twitching upwards. 

“You want to go on a date with me?” D’Artagnan replied, seemingly in some form of shock. Athos nodded and hoped that it was visible that he meant it, that this wasn’t just something he was saying while drunk. 

Yes, he might not be sober, but he still knew what he was saying. And he knew, more than anything, that he wanted to make d’Artagnan happy. He wanted to see that smile pointed at him, hear that laughter because of something he did, watch d’Artagnan grow excited because of him. Yeah, maybe it was selfish of Athos to think, but he wasn’t a good enough person to stop himself. 

“You and me,” Athos decided, “on a date next week. We can go get dinner or something.” _Whatever you want,_ he almost said. _Anything for you._ D’Artagnan smiled and Athos was convinced that maybe, just maybe, this would work. 

That would be nice. 

\----------

They ended up going on a double date with Aramis and Porthos. Not because they thought it would be a good idea, but because they weren’t given a chance. It was either Aramis and Porthos or Constance and Anne. And, well, at least Athos felt more comfortable hitting Aramis or Porthos over the head.

“And how many shots of whiskey did you have?” Aramis asked yet again, as if he had forgotten within the span of ten minutes. Athos scowled, flipped him off, and took a swig of his water. He was going to stay sober for this, for every experience he got to have with d’Artagnan. So then when things went horribly wrong, at least Athos would have some good memories.

“Stop teasing him about that,” d’Artagnan chided. “I like him sober or drunk.” Then he looked at Athos and maybe, just maybe, this would work. 

Athos could only hope.


End file.
